


A Life Like That

by serenelystrange



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, I can't believe that was already a tag lol, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Uber Driver Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28005309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: Just a little fluffy h/c fic, wherein Derek is an Uber driver in a calmed-down Beacon Hills, and Stiles thinks he can defy the laws of gravity! - Written for the Sterek SS 2020 for MoreTomHardy. I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2020





	A Life Like That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moretomhardy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moretomhardy/gifts).



The notification pings before Derek’s last ride has even reached her door, and he snorts as the app flashes his match. “Head to pick up Mieczyslaw (Stiles) now..”

He’s not surprised when the phone lights up with a call a moment later. He waves goodbye to the woman he’d dropped off as he pulls away, letting the call come through the Bluetooth piece in his ear.

“You know you have to pay for that ride now, right?” he says in lieu of a greeting.

“That’s alright,” Stiles says, and Derek can hear the smirk in his voice. “I just so happen to be sleeping with this guy who is like…obscenely rich. And loves paying for anything I need.”

“Is that so?” Derek snorts in response. “You’ll have to introduce me to him.”

“You’re not stealing my sugar daddy!” Stiles laughs.

He goes into the chorus of _Jolene_ before Derek can stop him, and Derek lets it go on for longer than he really should before butting in.

“Calm down, Dolly,” he says. “Your extravagant lifestyle is safe. You’ll be kept in the finest pizza and hipster beer that Beacon Hills has to offer.”

“I was just getting into it!” Stiles protests, but Derek can tell he’s smiling.

“Where are you going anyway?” Derek asks, keeping his eyes on the moderately busy road in front of him as he heads towards their house.

“Doesn’t your app show you?” Stiles asks, and Derek can hear him huffing as he settles down on the front porch steps to wait.

“Not until I actually pick you up,” Derek says. “How’d you even manage to match with me? I was ten minutes away.”

“I….” Stiles hedges, “I might have cancelled like six other rides until I got you.”

“Stiles.”

“Derek.”

“Honestly,” Stiles says, “I’m surprised it worked.”

Derek just laughs before pausing as something occurs to him.

“Wait,” he asks, “why aren’t you driving yourself? Did the Jeep break down again?”

“The thing is,” Stiles says, and oh boy, Derek knows that tone.

“What did you do?” he says.

“Always with the lack of question-mark tone,” Stiles says, ignoring the question.

His breath hitches on the last word, and Derek’s mood abruptly goes from teasing to worried.

“Are you hurt? Did somebody get through the wards?”

“I’m ok,” Stiles says quickly, trying to reassure the panicking werewolf. “Nobody attacked, nobody got through the wards. I just had an unfortunate encounter with a rickety chair and the kitchen floor.”

“Shit, babe,” Derek says, turning down the road towards their house, going a little faster than he should, but he can’t be bothered to care. “What did you…”

He asks the question as he pulls up to the house, but it’s answered before he even has to finish it. In his ear, the Bluetooth beeps as Stiles ends the call, dropping his phone into his left pocket, fumbling slightly as he does so. His right arm is tucked close to his chest in what looks like a makeshift sling from a sacrificed t-shirt.

Stiles waves with his good hand, grinning wanly despite the pain Derek can now see on his face.

Sighing, Derek clicks the “ride started” button on his app and leans over to open the door of the Camaro for Stiles. Realizing Stiles won’t be able to shut the door, Derek hops out and goes over to the passenger side, where he’s met with Stiles’ big sad eyes as he too realizes his predicament.

“Come on,” he says to Stiles, getting him settled into the car and buckling the seatbelt across his lap, letting the chest piece stay behind Stiles so he doesn’t hurt him further. 

“Why didn’t you just call me normally?” he asks. “I would’ve stopped working and picked you up right away.”

Stiles shrugs one-shouldered. “Mostly wanted to distract you from worrying about me until the last minute. It was dumb.”

“Not dumb,” Derek says, “I thought it was funny, right up until I realized you were hurt.”

Stiles just frowns and doesn’t say anything as Derek closes the door gently.

When they’re settled and back on the road, Stiles gives a deep sigh and looks over at Derek, who is driving as smoothly as possible so as not to jostle the broken bone.

“Well, this sucks,” he says. “I hate the hospital.”

“I know,” Derek says, sympathetically. He stops at a red light and reaches over to clasp Stiles’ broken arm gently, leeching as much of the pain as he can before the light turns green and he needs his hand back to shift gears.

“Ahh,” Stiles sighs, happily this time. “That’s the good stuff right there. I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

He rests his head back against the seat and closes his eyes, the tightness of his eyes visibly loosening, much to Derek’s relief.

“There’s also all the pizza and beer,” Derek teases.

“Mmmhm,” Stiles agrees, sleepily. “And also your butt. I love your butt.”

“You’ve made that known many times,” Derek laughs. “Hey, did you hit your head at all? I don’t want you falling asleep if you have a concussion.”

“Nuh-uh,” Stiles says, shaking his head slightly. “My arm broke my fall. And then broke…itself.”

“Were you using one of the chairs your dad gave us that creaks even when tiny Lydia sits on it?”

Stiles says nothing, feigning sleep.

“I can hear your heartbeat and your breathing, asshole,” Derek says, reaching over to smack Stiles’ knee without taking his eyes off the road.

“Ugh,” Stiles says. “Fine. Yes, I was using the chair that’s older than Dad. And yes, it decided my very manly muscled body was just too much for it to bear, and yes, one of the legs snapped and yes I fell victim to gravity and my own damn hubris. Happy?”

“Very manly muscled body?” Derek asks, smirking.

“You love my manly muscled body,” Stiles says without opening his eyes. He does, however, stick his tongue out at Derek as if he was 5 years on, not nearly 27.

“I do,” Derek allows, and he turns his head away from the road for just a moment to shoot a grin to Stiles.

“And of course I’m not happy you got hurt,” he says. “Just trying to keep you distracted until we get to the ER.”

“I know,” Stiles says, softly. “I appreciate it.”

Derek hums in response, only to laugh out loud a moment later.

“What?” Stiles asks, opening his eyes at the sudden outburst and looking over at Derek with wide eyes.

“Melissa is going to lose it when she finds out you were bested by a piece of furniture,” Derek responds, still chuckling to himself slightly.

Stiles groans.

“We’re here,” Derek says, pulling in to park and ending the ride on the Uber app, before signing out of it for the day before he can get another request.

Once they’re parked and ready to get out, Derek takes a little bit more of Stiles’ pain, just enough to get him through the sure to be long wait at the emergency room.

Stiles leans into Derek slightly with his good side and sighs in relief again.

“Definitely giving you a 5 star rating.”

A few hours and one hand-to-elbow cast later, they’re finally on their way home, a prescription for painkillers in the glovebox, and the promise of a delivery dinner on the horizon.

“At least I can still do most things left-handed,” Stiles says, in much better spirits now that his broken arm is set and the mild painkillers the hospital gave him have kicked in.

“And it’s a good thing you can walk to work from the house,” Derek adds.

“You mean my dearest darling wolfy wouldn’t drive me to work?” Stiles asks, batting his eyes over at Derek in an exaggerated motion.

Derek just rolls his eyes.

“It’s a 10 minute walk, Stiles,” he says. “You didn’t break your legs.”

“It’s cold in the mornings!” Stiles protests.

“We live in California,” Derek counters, smirking.

“Northern California!” Stiles objects. “You know very well it gets cold here!”

Derek shrugs, just to annoy him. “It’s not cold to me.”

“We don’t all have magical weather accommodating werewolf bodies!” Stiles huffs, wishing he could cross his arms against his chest.

Derek turns into their driveway and parks before grinning and letting his eyes flash red as he turns to Stiles.

“You could,” he says, flashing red again for dramatic effect before letting his eyes go back to normal.

“Don’t tempt me,” Stiles says, groaning again as he looks down at his arm and thinks about how very annoying the next 6 to 8 weeks are going to be.

“Offer is always open,” Derek says, leaning over to unbuckle Stiles’ seatbelt. He tilts to place his mouth on the juncture of Stile’s throat and shoulder, biting down lightly with blunt teeth.

He smirks internally at the way Stiles’ heartbeat rises, and the smell of arousal that practically sizzles from his suddenly heated skin.

“No fair,” Stiles whines. “Getting me all worked up when I can’t be…vigorous.”

Derek laughs and pulls away before they end up having a wobbly version of car sex in the driveway. Again.

“We’ll just have to go slow then,” Derek says.

“Hell, yeah,” Stiles says, raising his good arm up in a triumphant fist pump. “We’ll Boyz II Men the fuck out of tonight!”

“Please don’t sing,” Derek says, but it’s too late.

“ _I’ll make love to you!”_ Stiles belts, “ _Like you want me to!”_

Derek doesn’t know much about music, to be fair, but he can tell that Stiles isn’t remotely in the same neighborhood of the right key.

“I don’t know why I love you,” he says, even as he’s helping Stiles out of the car and into the house.

“My superior singing skills,” Stiles says. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Derek says dryly, but he can’t help but smile at Stiles.

“Cash money!” Stiles calls out in delight as their white long-haired cat pads into view, sniffing at the air delicately.

“Meow?” she chirps up at Stiles, swishing her tail softly.

“She says her name isn’t Cash Money,” Derek says, sharing a conspiratorial look with Cashmere.

“You don’t speak cat!” Stiles protests.

“I’m versed in all woodland creatures,” Derek replies, completely straight-faced, only breaking out into laughter when the reference hits Stiles and he starts to laugh.

“Ok, Kronk,” he says, leaning down to give Cashmere scritches.

She arches up into it for a brief moment before trotting off to do whatever she does during the 80% of her life where she wants nothing to do with them.

“Pizza?” he asks Derek, who already has his phone out and is tapping away on one of the delivery apps.

“Soon,” Derek promises, holding up his phone to show the order has been accepted.

“Then careful sex!” Stiles declares, before his mouth cracks open in a huge yawn.

“Or maybe sleep,” Derek says, arching a single eyebrow in amusement.

“Mmm,” Stiles says, reaching out to Derek with his good hand. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

Derek laughs and pulls Stiles back against his chest, tucking an arm around his left side and hooking a thumb into the loop on Stiles’ jeans.

“After dinner, we’ll put that super sexy cast bag on your arm so we can shower. I’ll even wash your hair.”

“Ugh,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose at himself. “That shouldn’t turn me on. And yet.”

“And yet,” Derek agrees. “And then we’ll get into bed and I’ll let you make me watch The Witcher for the tenth time.”

“Don’t be jealous of how sexy Geralt is,” Stiles chides, leaning his head back onto Derek’s shoulder so Derek can rub his cheek along his neck.

“I could take him,” Derek huffs.

“Yes, dear,” Stiles says, eyes closed and swaying gently as Derek rocks them in place.

“Can he full-shift into a wolf?” Derek asks. “No,” he says, answering his own question resolutely.

“Not a werewolf,” Stiles feels compelled to point out.

“He’s not even scary!” Derek continues, huffing again. “And his wig is bad.”

“And he should feel bad,” Stiles agrees. “Now let’s go sit down before I pass out. You can tell me all about your issues with Geralt of Rivia from the couch.”

“Gladly,” Derek says. Stiles just laughs.

Later that night, they’re clean and cozy in bed, watching Yennefer scream out her pain to the world.

“She’s gonna cause so much trouble,” Stiles says happily.

Derek considers it for a moment and nods in agreement.

“Good for her,” he says. “With a life like that, she deserves a happy ending.”

Stiles looks over at Derek from where he’s propped up against the headboard, but Derek’s full attention is still on the screen.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling more than a little dopily at the man he loves. “She sure does.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> So why does Derek Hale, Mr. Moneybags and provider of pizza, need to be an Uber driver? He doesn't. But he enjoys hearing small town gossip and keeping his ear out for anything hinky going on in BH, and it provides the perfect cover! That all being said, we're here for the fluff folks, so we don't have to worry too much about the whys!


End file.
